


I Know

by RoxanneRolls



Category: NCIS
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-14 12:00:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29170725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoxanneRolls/pseuds/RoxanneRolls
Summary: A moment between Jack and Gibbs set between the Season 18 episodes "Head of the Snake" and "1 mm"
Relationships: Jethro Gibbs/Jacqueline "Jack" Sloane
Comments: 21
Kudos: 89





	I Know

**Author's Note:**

> We could see how much having to shoot McGee messed with Gibbs, despite his efforts to insist he did what he had to do. We did not get much Gibbs-Jack interaction in these episodes, so I thought I would write a little moment between them, set a couple of days after the shooting.

**I Know**

**By MAHC (Roxanne Rolls)**

_This takes place between the Season 18 episodes “Head of the Snake” and “1 mm”._

The first things she saw were well-worn, size-12 boots and long legs clad in faded jeans stretching out from under the boat. It took effort to squelch the swell of alarm at the sight, forcing her feet down the stairs. No reason to panic before there was need. This was where she had expected him to be, after all. Peering around the hull of the boat, which was finally looking very boat-like, she sighed in relief even as she winced in empathy. 

Gibbs sat, or more specifically slouched, his broad shoulders up against a battered metal cabinet, head back, eyes closed, hair tousled, an empty bottle of Jack clutched in one hand, an equally-empty mason jar tipped over on the floor next to the other hand. The tattered NIS T-shirt that stretched across his chest was splattered with whatever bourbon had not made it to his mouth. She hoped more of it had landed on the shirt than in his gut, which she knew for a fact had taken in only coffee the past two days.

It was not a surprise to find him here, even though he should have been asleep in bed after spending the past 48 hours at the hospital sitting by Tim’s side, waiting for the SFA to show some sign of improvement, some indication that he would eventually be all right. Although he had said barely five words to her in the time she had sat with him while Delilah went home for a change of clothes, deep guilt and pain blared from those expressive blue eyes.

“Gibbs?” 

He did not acknowledge her presence.

She wondered if he was drunk. She had never seen him drunk, not really, even after he surprised the whole team by showing up to help McGee celebrate the anniversary of the day he decided to join NCIS and kept buying tequila shots for everyone.

Edging closer, wary of startling a Marine sniper who had dealt with more than his share of post-traumatic stress, she called his name a little louder. His eyes snapped open, staring upward for a beat before they cut toward her. She watched the emotions flash across his face: surprise, confusion, realization, irritation, chagrin, and then, finally, resignation. All mixing with the ever-present burden he still carried over Tim.

“Jack,” he rasped, pulling his gaze away from her and running a hand down his face as if to wipe away the haze. “What are ya doing here?”

Ignoring the question, because she knew _he_ knew damn well what she was doing there, she gently lifted the whiskey bottle from his loose grasp and lowered herself down beside him. “How ya doin’, Cowboy?” she asked.

A quick breath and stiffening of shoulders signaled his efforts to wave off her concern, and before he could even attempt to convince her he was “fine,” she placed a hand on his arm and said, “This is _me,_ Gibbs.”

For a moment, she thought he might push her away, but instead he bent his knees and draped his arms over them so that his hands hung loose. His gaze seemed fixed on some point on the hull.

She let her shoulder bump him gently, in lieu of wrapping her arms around those broad shoulders and pressing her cheek against the hard muscles of his back. He smelled of whiskey and sawdust and self-condemnation.

After a few seconds, she said, “You had to do it.”

“I know,” he whispered raggedly, 

“He would have died if you hadn’t.”

“I know.”

“And he didn’t.”

“Yeah.”

Silence settled over them for several minutes as Jack listened to his steady breathing, leaning a little closer into his warmth. Finally, he drew in a deep breath and exhaled heavily, shaking his head.

When he didn’t say anything, she turned toward him, eyebrow raised. “What?”

Lifting his gaze toward the basement windows, he shook his head again and murmured, “One millimeter.”

Jack swallowed. They had found out from Tim’s surgeon that the bullet missed severing the femoral artery by one millimeter, and that thought had taken root in all the what-if imaginations of the team.

“One millimeter over and – “

“But it wasn’t, Gibbs.”

“Delilah told me – “ He pressed his lips together hard for a long moment, and when he spoke, emotion thickened his voice. “Delilah told me she knew what I had done.”

Her hand slid over to his thigh and down to rest on his knee, squeezing slightly. “She does. She understands.”

His quick breath told her he wasn’t so sure. 

“So will Tim, when you can talk to him.” She saw his jaw clench. “You need to – “

“I _know,”_ he snapped, then sighed, nodding his head, and repeated softly, “I know.”

They sat in silence again, and she figured she had pressed enough, so she pushed down the impulse to fill that quiet and waited until he was ready to speak again. She was just contemplating how long five minutes of complete silence could seem when he broke it.

“Why’d it have to be – of all the – I’ve always thought of Tim as… “ He trailed off, but she already knew what he would have said.

“I know,” she assured him. “You have been through a lot together.”

Long, strong fingers covered hers over his knee. “Keep thinkin’ maybe… “

“Maybe what?”

“Maybe there was another way. Maybe without shoo – “ His voice broke, and he cleared his throat, trying to cover. “Without… _shooting_ McGee.”

Jack knew something of guilt, of feeling directly responsible for people under her command, of failing to protect them, or somehow being part of causing them harm. “You’ve had two days to question yourself, to go through what-ifs. But then, you had only seconds to choose, seconds to stop Tim from getting so close to that plane that he would have been killed when it exploded. _Seconds._ What else could you have done?”

“I know.” He cocked his jaw, a move she had come to recognize when he was trying to make sense of things. “I just – keep seeing him in my sights – “ This time, he couldn’t mask the raw emotion that choked off the words.

Her hands came up to frame his face and force him to look at her. “You did what you had to do. You _saved_ Tim’s life.”

Sighing, he leaned over to press a gentle kiss against her temple. It had been a while since they had done anything together, even getting coffee, so the affection surprised her. Another few minutes passed as they sat side by side, content enough with each other’s presence not to need more.

“Somebody came by and put a couple of T-bones in my fridge while I was gone,” he said suddenly, pushing himself up from the basement floor with such smoothness that she was envious. 

It was so typically ‘Gibbs’ that she had to grin.

“They have Kasie and Palmer written all over them.” He extended a hand toward her. “Wanna stay for supper?”

She climbed to her feet as he pulled. “When have you ever known me to turn down cowboy steaks?”

He laughed as she stumbled against him but caught her easily, wrapping one arm around her waist to steady her. His free hand lifted to brush honey strands from her face before sliding over her cheek and cradling her jaw. She had not been this intimate with him since the evening of the Marine Corps band concert months before.

“Jack, I – ” He hesitated, the laughter overtaken by moisture shining in the blue of his eyes.

She smiled at him, her own dark eyes growing moist. “I know.”

His smile returned, then faded as he bent to kiss her, his lips warm and firm and much more confident than his eyes had been. She responded instantly, opening to his touch, pulling him even closer and giving in to the longing she had tried to suppress in those months of uncertainty about their relationship.

They were both flushed and breathless when he finally pulled his lips from hers and held her gently against his chest. His heart sounded loud and strong beneath her head.

“Gibbs?” she murmured, raising her hand to brush over the short hair behind his ear.

“Hmm?” The sound vibrated between them.

She bit her lip a little anxiously as she asked, “You still want steaks?” His hand, which had been rubbing over her hair, stilled, and she mentally kicked herself for pushing and ruining the rare moment. “I mean – “

“Yeah.”

“What?”

“Yeah,” he repeated, easing back so that a few more inches separated them. “I still want steaks.”

“Oh.” Her gaze dropped, along with her heart, and she turned away so he wouldn’t see the hurt and disappointment. “Yeah, okay. Well, guess we should go up – “

But strong fingers wrapped around her wrist, stopping her. “For breakfast.”

Her eyes lifted to his, seeing mischief and vulnerability and desire looking back at her. She couldn’t help but shake her head and grin as she slapped his shoulder. “You are a bastard.”

He shrugged easily and grinned back. “I know.”


End file.
